Give and Take
by thewildwilds
Summary: Fuyuhiko is determined to show Peko that she deserves so much more than she gives herself credit for. (Also this isn't an excuse to touch her. Like, not at all.)


Fuyuhiko can ignore a lot of things—nosy little sisters and screaming matches between his parents at one in the morning aside—but watching Peko wince and grit her teeth when she so much as lifts an arm is not one of them.

She's been that way since coming home a few hours ago with a shiny new trophy tucked beneath her arm and a painful ache rolling in her muscles. The trophy she'll give to her teacher for him to put on display at the dojo, but the ache she keeps all on her own. She tries to hide it, but he doesn't miss the way the corners of the mouth pull into a grimace as she makes her way around the estate. He grouches at his parents to "take her to the fuckin' doctor already," but his request is ignored. She hasn't come back from a hit, she's come back from "a silly kendo tournament," and for that, they will not waste anymore resources than necessary because kendo is just the cover-up for her _real_ job.

She'll say otherwise, but Peko enjoys kendo more than she puts on. He can't deny she's exceptional at the sport, beating even seasoned grown men, and that's probably why she's won so many national tournaments. She puts her whole heart into it, working into late hours of the night and pushing her body to its limits. It's no wonder she ends up with sore aching muscles. He watches her hold back a wince as she helps the house servants set the dining room table. Unconsciously, his hand goes to his shoulder, as if experiencing her pain for himself.

Sometimes Peko will give him a back rub if he's feeling sore after a long day of combat training. He… probably likes them more than he should. Not for anything _weird,_ goddammit, just that Peko gives really soothing back rubs. _"Shishou_ taught me this," she told him once as her graceful hands eased away the tension coiling in his shoulders. "He says the body is the most powerful weapon a person can hold, and if one is expected to perform at their best when the need arises, then the body must be well-kept."

(He wishes Peko would take her own damn advice sometimes.)

So after dinner when they've both finished their meals and the household is winding down for the night, he catches her by the elbow.

"Peko, come with me."

She follows him wordlessly to the storeroom at the far end of the estate. It's small and cramped, but it's the only place on the property where they'll be able to get some semblance of privacy. As Fuyuhiko carefully closes the sliding door to the shed, Peko looks at him quizzically and he blushes right up to his ears.

"D-Don't think anything weird or nothing!" he sputters. "I just don't want anybody walking in! You know nobody fucking knocks in this house."

Of course Peko doesn't catch the implication. (Or if she does, she makes no indication in her expression.)

He gestures to the floor. "Sit."

Effortlessly, Peko falls into perfect _seiza._ He'd think it beautiful if he weren't already aware of the lengths and hardships she's gone through to reach that state of perfection.

He sits downs behind her, cross-legged, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. His hands hover over her shoulders and freeze there. For all his good intentions, he's never really done this before, and it's never going to be more important than it is now. There's no _way_ he can do a shitty job with this. It's hard enough just working up the nerve to actually _touch_ her. (There's nothing weird about it, _seriously._ He's just… paying her back for all the times she's helped him.)

He sucks in a big breath, places his hands on her shoulders and gives a careful squeeze.

"Young master, what are you doing?"

"I'm giving you a back rub, what's it look like?"

"What?" Peko goes ram-rod straight. She makes to stand but he pushes her back down with firm hands.

"Hold still, dammit."

Despite the very clear order, Peko has difficulty in settling back down. Fuyuhiko has a feeling he knows what's getting her so worked up. She confirms his suspicions a few seconds later when she whispers, "But I have not been of good service…"

"Don't say it like that," he grumbles. Peko thinks in give-and-take. (Well, that's not really true; it's more appropriate to say she thinks in give-and-give, but Peko will not take unless she's given first.) He's never going to forgive the people who made her think this way, even if they happen to be his own damn parents. "Look, the better you feel, the faster you'll recover, right? And the faster you recover, the sooner you can go back to… work." He cringes at his own choice of words, which Peko doesn't see. His words give the impression that he only cares about her capabilities, and that's not at all how he feels, but it's the only thing he can think of that will get her to understand.

"… I suppose that is logical," she says, and he feels his own concerns ease just a bit. With a slow exhale, she finally falls back onto her heels.

His hands return to her shoulders.

He tries to think of the way Peko does it, how she can so easily melt away his worries with practiced hands. He starts slow, digging in the heels of his palms in circular motions. That seems right so far. He really has no clue what he's doing, but as long as he focuses on the task at hand, everything's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay…

Peko is tense, which probably isn't doing any favors to the muscles he's trying so hard to work out. "Relax a bit. I'm not gonna hurt ya." At least, he hopes so.

He knows it's easier said than done, but she tries to calm down a bit, rolling her shoulders back and holding her hands in her lap. He tries to work around her hesitation, rubbing out the tension knotted in her shoulders. Peko doesn't relax completely, like she thinks an assassin is going to pop up from the storeroom boxes any second, and his hands aren't exactly the steadiest they've ever been. It's a little hard to focus when they're both so out of their element, but he thinks about just how much shit Peko goes through day-to-day without gratitude and his determination flares up anew.

He starts moving inward along her shoulders, squeezing and kneading and massaging, and when his fingers briefly brush against the crook of her neck, she sucks in a sharp intake of breath. _Crap._ He jerks his hands away, fearing he may have hurt her. "Sorry. Was that…?"

"No," she affirms, swallowing. "I mean. It's… It's all right."

He chooses to trust her this time. Cautiously, he goes back to what he was doing, mindful of any sudden movements, but Peko really does seem to be all right with it.

He works in relative silence. (Anytime he breaks the silence is to ask if anything hurts or if he's doing it bad; she always says she's fine, so he has to believe her.) Peko's breathing eventually evens out to a more serene pace, and when he feels it, his resolve and his confidence multiply tenfold. This is good. This is better.

He glides all along her back, seeking out knots of tension and kneading at them with careful but firm touches until they melt away. His hands drift to her lower back, briefly rubbing his thumbs into the triangle of flesh there, and then traveling back up again. Lightly, his fingers creep along her spine, vertebra by vertebra. There's an elegance to the way Peko's spine curves beneath his touch, straight but not rigid. She lets out a soft sigh, no hint of concern in that one breath, and for a second his ego inflates because it seems she's actually enjoying this.

Fuyuhiko rises onto his knees to get better leverage, and from over her shoulder he can see Peko gently rubbing the pad of her thumb over the knuckle of her index finger. It's subtle, but it's there all the same. That's… interesting. Fascinating, even. Normally Peko isn't one to fidget. He hopes she doesn't secretly hate the back rub, but besides that one minute movement, she seems perfectly at ease.

If she asked, he would give her whatever she wanted. Whether it were new hair ribbons, or something really nice for lunch, or back rubs everyday for the rest of her life, he'd give it to her gladly. If she wanted to run away with him right now, he wouldn't look back.

"You know, you can stand to be a little selfish sometimes," Fuyuhiko murmurs before he realizes what words have come out of his mouth. Right away, his cheeks burn. Peko says nothing, but he can imagine the look of confusion on her face. He clears his throat to fill in the awkward silence. _Shit,_ he's really bad at this. "I-I'm saying you do a lot, okay? Fuck." Why is he so fucking terrible at words? Peko starts to look over her shoulder, but he stops her with a hand against the side of her head, half because he doesn't want her to tense up again, half because he doesn't want her to see how red his face is right now. He finishes up the back rub in silence with a few more light touches and then leans back. "I'm done. Feel better?"

Peko rolls one of her shoulders, testing the muscles that no longer ache quite so much. "Yes. That was… pleasant. Thank you, young master."

Fuyuhiko _swears_ there's a ghost of a smile on her lips (but maybe he's just imagining it). He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the blood rushing to his face once more. "Yeah, yeah… If you ever want another one, just say so."

Peko nods.

(She won't, of course, but he likes to hold onto hope that one day she will.)


End file.
